


Measure of Desire

by squirrellysemantics



Category: Assassin's Creed
Genre: Anal Play, M/M, Sex, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-11-29
Updated: 2010-11-29
Packaged: 2017-10-13 11:02:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,446
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/136604
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/squirrellysemantics/pseuds/squirrellysemantics
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>Dwell not upon thy weariness, thy strength shall be according to the measure of thy desire </i> - Al-Mutannabi</p><p>VERY MILD spoilers for Assassin's Creed Brotherhood.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Measure of Desire

**Author's Note:**

  * For [neurquadic](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=neurquadic).



> Written as a thank you to neurquadic . Needed to write something smutty. This came out a lot more angsty than I intended.

The bar just at the edge of town was a happening place. Or as happening as a stuffy, smoke-filled hole in the wall at the ass end of nowhere could be. What made for a good place to hide from Abstergo didn't exactly make for a mind blowing night on the town.

In a quest to stave off boredom, Desmond studied the centuries old Italian daggers and knives that packed every square inch of spare wall of this fine establishment. He could remember the feel of them, the difference in balance, the way each one sliced as he held them in his hand.

Ezio's hand, he reminded himself for the millionth time.

He went back to nursing his glass, grateful that the cheap house wine more than made up for any faults in quality with sheer quantity. From the looks of things it was going to be a long night and what few euros he'd managed to bum off the others needed to last.

Tension had been running high all day. Upon discovering that someone had finished the last of his cereal, Shaun had swiftly assigned blame. Lucy hadn’t denied the accusation, more than happy admit her part in the retaliatory strike for the yogurt pilfering the Englishman had committed against her earlier in the week. They'd nearly come to blows before Desmond's pounding headache forced him to ask if they both could kindly shut the fuck up. Rebecca had rallied to Lucy's defense and the discussion had swiftly gone downhill from there.

And so it was decided that no matter the risks, they needed an Assassins' Night Out. Rain had been pissing down all evening and showed no signs of stopping which limited their options. Lucy had suggested an enoteca. Drink a little local stuff. Loosen up a bit.

Desmond tried to cover his yawn. Boy, howdy these kids knew how to party.

A few snacks, a few drinks and the four sat and stared at each other, silence occasionally broken by brief moments of polite conversation. The evening had taken a turn for the worse when Desmond had gone on a quest for an extra fork for their meager meal. Shaun had made a run for it, leaving him alone with the ladies.

Too bad the bastard hadn't taken him along.

Once the wine had kicked in, the ladies had begun chatting in earnest. Unfortunately it was all shop talk; Animus this, coding that, maybe they could route the power supply to the holy fucking crap that shit was boring.

He tried not to let it get to him. The ladies would have no idea why he had become so punchy over the past few days. They may have tried brief stints in the Animus but they couldn’t know how secluded a long session could make him feel. How isolated. Just spending an hour alone in Ezio's memories and Desmond felt like he been away for weeks. Deprived of human contact-real contact- would have driven him crazy if he weren’t well on his way there already.

One thing helped though. A thin lifeline to his sanity. And it came from Shaun of all people. The historian would probably have laughed in his face if he'd known.

The database entries could have been cold. Sterile. But they weren’t. Filled with notes or little jokes they felt personal. Almost intimate. He didn’t know why Shaun spent so much time on something only one person would ever see but Desmond appreciated the fruits of his labor more and more with each passing day.

With the sessions in the Animus getting longer and his rest periods getting more infrequent, Desmond found himself clinging to these little flashes of humanity that had been left for him. Sometimes they were the only things that kept him grounded. Reminded him where he was.

Or who he was.

“Oh my god!”

Rebecca's breathless exclamation dragged Desmond back to the here and now.

She squinted through the cigarette fueled haze, somehow managing to spill a little wine from her glass with a sloppy gesture even though there was hardly any liquid in it. “Don’t look but is Shaun putting the moves on some chick at the bar?”

What on the what what? Desmond was still blinking away his shock to stare right away.

Cheeks colored a candy apple red, Lucy craned her neck around with complete drunken disregard to Rebecca's request for stealth. “Where?” Her hand came up to cover the very un-Lucy-like hiccup that she emitted at the sight of Shaun easing himself into an empty chair beside a long legged brunette.

The Englishman took note of his co-workers' unabashed nosiness and pointedly ignored them before he resumed concentrating on the lovely woman next to him.

Shit. This unexpected flirtation made Desmond feel - what, hurt? Surprised? It bothered him to realize that any camaraderie he felt with the other man might be all in his head.

Lucy took a healthy swig of her wine and very nearly missed the table as she tried to set it back down. “This.-hic- should be good."

"V...vuoi bere qual...qualcosa?" Shaun asked haltingly, words marred by an atrocious accent.

A gracious smile from the woman stirred up something dark and unpleasant in him that Desmond struggled to describe.

“I would love to have a drink with you,” she answered sweetly, her English much better than the historian's Italian. “But I think my date might not be so happy with either of us.”

The date in question loomed large over the two of them. Shaun rose from the man's chair with a barrage of apologetic 'Scusi!”, beating a hasty retreat to the table of assassins.

“Shaun Hastings: master of seduction!” crowed Rebecca at the prodigal's return.

“For crying out loud, we’re supposed to be in hiding and you all of a sudden start thinking with your d-“ Mid-word Lucy let out a spectacularly squeaky sneeze that made Desmond burst out laughing.

Already stewing, the laughter pushed Shaun over the edge. “Fuck off, the lot of you! You! And you!” He pointed to the women in turn, eventually leveling his finger at Desmond with particular venom. “And...and..."

Here Shaun faltered, uncharacteristically at a loss for words. "And _you_!”

Turning on his heel, the historian stalked off into the crowd to disappear once more.

Fuck. So much for their team building exercise. Maybe they should go out and punch each other in the face just to cap it all off.

The urge to go after the man was fierce. And say what exactly? Please don't think I’m an asshole because I was imagining that we were actually friends? That would go over just swimmingly.

“Well, tonight has just been way too much fun,” Rebecca said in a tone that indicated nothing of the sort. She drained the last of her glass and set it down with conviction. “I'm done.”

Lucy wobbled in her seat. “I'm not sure if I'm ready-” She let out a particularly loud hiccup, turning crimson to the roots of her hair.

“You sure _look_ like you're ready.” Rebecca threw Lucy her jacket with a laugh. “C'mon, lightweight. Let's get you home before you need carrying.” The two ladies rose.

“Waitaminute!" Desmond blurted out. "What about Shaun? Shouldn't we-”

“Shaun needs some time to get that stick out of his ass,” Rebecca said over her shoulder as she guided an inebriated Lucy to the door. “Someone's got to baby sit him so it looks like you're volunteering. Catch you boys later.”

Great. The idea of being Shaun's unwanted chaperone did little to improve Desmond's mood. Still, if anyone could prompt a good ass kicking it was Shaun. Better to stick around and make sure the guy wasn’t the target of some jealous boyfriend's wrath.

The feel of eagle vision washed over him and Shaun's gold silhouette stood out in his periphery. His vision cleared, details coming back to normal and-

Oh.

The Englishman had cloistered himself in a booth by the back. The walls framed him, appropriately covered in relics from the Renaissance. He looked completely adrift, shoulders drooped in defeat.

Damn. Up was down, the sun rose from the west and Shaun Hastings didn’t look like he had everything under control. Something was seriously wrong. Surely he’d taken stronger jabs in the past with no ill effects.

Fuck it. Desmond grabbed his leftovers in preparation of joining the other man, ready to risk the likely shot to the groin to offer some comfort.

Before he could move closer, someone else was at Shaun's table.

A young man. Fit, slender frame wrapped up in his too trendy clothes, with an easy smile on his handsome face. The smile of someone who didn't have a care in the world.

Desmond froze, battling a surge of animosity that threatened to overwhelm him.

“Sei solo?” the stranger asked cheerily. “Che peccato.”

“Sorry, mate. Non capisco.” Shaun was not so disturbed that he wasn’t ready with his stock answer and added a dismissive wave of his hand.

“Ah! An English! Perfetto.” The young man seemed unperturbed by Shaun's attitude. “The practice is needed for me. This place- there are few seats that remain. I wonder if I join you?”

All this question got was a grunt which the young man took as assent. He slid into the booth across from the historian, back settling against the wall to meet Shaun face to face.

“The weather, she is miserable tonight.” The young man raised his glass in a toast. “We can raise our glasses as well as raise our spirits, no?”

"Does that actually work?" Slumping further into his seat, Shaun was the picture of misery. “If that's the case, I might have to drink this place dry.”

“Uff, you would be admirable to try!” the young man said with a laugh. “In Toscano, there will always be more wine.” He set his elbows on the table, looking far too at comfortable for Desmond's liking. “Where are my manners? If you and I are to drink together, we must share names. I am Andrea.”

Ha! A girl's name. Desmond couldn't help his little smirk. With a setup like that, this guy was going to get smacked down so har-

“I’m Shaun.”

The smirk fell from Desmond's face.

“It is my great pleasure to meet you, Shaun,” the young man said, swift and smooth. “What brings you to the area? Me, I visit family on my way to Firenze. I go to see the Galleria degli Uffizi.

The Englishman swirled the drink in his glass, only half paying attention. "An artist, then?"

Girl Name was quick to laugh again. "You would think so. No. Material science, I think you call in English. I work on the...uh, how you say.... ripristinare?"

Shaun's curiosity dragged him out of his shell a little. "Art restoration?"

"Si, si!" Girl Name said in obvious delight. "We work on a new technique. New lenses to see all under the layers."

"Really?" Shaun asked, suddenly coming back to life. “That's fascinating stuff.” His arms unfurled like a flag as his hands moved in time with his words. "Wasn't it Seracini who discovered the underdrawing under da Vinci's Adoration of the Magi? Using infrared cameras, yeah? Da Vinci never finished the piece because he was... uh....” The historian cleared his throat. “He, uh, was a little distracted during that period of his life. The scans created a lot of debate over how much of Leonardo's real masterpiece was visible to the naked eye and how much was hidden by centuries of touch ups by other artists."

"That you know such things, it pleases me greatly!” the young man said, matching the Englishman's sudden enthusiasm.

Girl Name gave a conspiratorial wink. “And I see you have the heart of an Italiano as well."

Shaun and Desmond unwittingly shared a puzzled look.

"To talk with your hands," clarified Girl Name, waving his own in demonstration. "They say when two Italians speak in the ocean, they go swimming, eh?"

There was open, honest laughter from Shaun. The smile on the bold Italian's face grew broader.

Desmond felt his mouth go dry. He really didn’t know anything about Shaun, did he?

"Ah, mi piaci di brutto!" Leaning in, Girl Name made to whisper but Desmond could still hear. “This place, she has too many eyes now, no?”

Shaun leaned back in his seat as if to measure the merit of the question. He took his time, sweeping the room with a glance. Finally his attention wandered in Desmond's direction, stopping there as if by chance.

A wave of guilt made Desmond unable to meet Shaun's gaze.

Shoulders set in a rigid line, Shaun came to a decision. He turned back to his new companion with a lopsided smile. “Yeah, it is a little crowded in here.”

Disappointment sent Desmond's heart sinking into his shoes. Shaun couldn’t seriously be planning on taking off with some random dude.... He fingered the fork still in his hands, trying not to bend the cheap metal as his anger built. A surge of suspicion only added fuel to the fire. Who the fuck was this ass clown?

“Bene!” Girl Name clapped his hand on the table. “I think I know just the place, yes?”

The two men seated at the booth looked up sharply at a loud _thunk_ over head. They then flew apart as a dagger that had been tenuously affixed to the wall above them began to fall. Centuries old but still dangerously sharp, the dagger plummeted between them to bury itself point first into their table.

"Merda!" Girl Name went deathly pale.

Shaun only needed a quick look at the wall where the dagger had been before instantly glaring in Desmond's direction.

Desmond refused to look away this time. The fork was still embedded in the wall precisely where he had thrown it.

"I'm sorry, Andrea," he heard Shaun murmur. "I need to take care of something."

The Englishman stormed up to him.

“Outside, Miles,” the man snapped before he even reached Desmond, his words clipped and full of ire. “ _Now_.”

Desmond shoved aside his sense of triumph and followed.

It was still pouring, rain refreshing in contrast to the stifling air in the bar. The Englishman was ready to explode right there on the sidewalk but he led the way into an alley by the exit. No need to attract the polizia for ring side seats of the nuclear explosion that was about to take out the whole neighborhood.

“What the fuck was that little stunt about, Miles?” Shaun turned on Desmond as soon as there was some degree of privacy. “You could have hurt Andrea!”

“Fuck that guy!” Desmond snarled back, annoyed that he was automatically on the offensive. Tone it down, dumbass. “You don't know anything about him.”

Droplets scattered the light falling on eyeglass lenses, letting Shaun hide behind his glasses. “Getting to know him better was rather the point! And since when has my personal life been any business of yours?"

There it was. The question felt like a punch to the gut. He didn’t know Shaun. Not at all, by the look of it. He was such an idiot.

“So you were going to hook up with some random dude?” Desmond struggled to keep the hurt from his voice. “What if he was a thief? Or from Abstergo?”

“I'm not an imbecile, Miles! I can take care of myself.”

“You're serious? I can't believe-”

“Can't believe what?” Shaun barked, stepping toe to toe with the target of his anger. “That someone would want me? Or that a bastard like me could possibly crave human affection?”

Gaping at him, Desmond's mind was whirling a million miles per second. The situation had spiraled completely out of his control now and he was furious at himself for letting it get there. “No! I... I don't know...”

"Of course you don't!" Shaun didn't back down. "You found this all funny earlier. All one big game, yeah? Well, I have news for you Miles. In just under three months, odds are good that we’ll all be dead! Or zombies or who knows what sort of hell on earth will be unleashed upon us. Three! Fucking! Months!"

The shout echoed along empty streets. Rain continued to fall as they stood in silence, neither realizing they were getting soaked to the skin.

“I'm sure you think me an utter cad,” Shaun stated flatly. "Considering I’m too much of a coward to try for the things I want…”

Desmond’s eyes widened in surprise as Shaun faltered on meeting his gaze.

The Englishman quickly looked away. “I have to settle for what scraps I can get.”

“No, no, _no_! You’re _wrong!_ About you, about me, about _everything!_ ” What had he just seen? “You can’t know what’s going to happen!”

"I know history, Miles!" Shaun snapped. "And sometimes history says that the good guys won’t win!"

"But we have to try!" Desmond yelled back, shoving his own doubts aside. How could this fucker be so headstrong and fragile at the same time? "There are other teams working on getting their own Pieces of Eden, not just us! Lucy says we're making progress. I’m close to the right memory, I can feel it-"

“The others don’t understand. They aren’t privy to the intelligence I've been given.” The Englishman began to tremble and not from the cold. “They’re still hopeful that this is just one more skirmish in a never ending war. They don't know how close we are to this being the last...."

The man tried to collect his rapidly failing composure. "I don’t know why I’m telling you any of this. Just leave me what illusions I have. Now if you don't mind, I would like to gather up what's left of my dignity and go.”

This was it. If Desmond let the man slip away, then Shaun would be lost to him for good.

And there was no way he could let that happen. He had to try, after all.

Spurred into action, he stepped into the Englishman’s path, blocking the only exit in the narrow alley. “Don't,” he said softly.

“What are you doing, you neanderthal?” Shaun demanded weakly, looking more and more like a drowned rat as the rain forced his gelled hair every which way. “Let me pass.”

“No,” Desmond murmured, blinking the raindrops from his lashes. He couldn’t help but notice the other man flush as he closed in. “If you believe all that, if it’s as hopeless as you say, then why stick around? You should be long gone by now.”

“You _must_ know why.” The corner of Shaun’s mouth twitched as he battled to keep his facade from slipping further. “ _Someone_ has to help you, fool. You can barely tie your own shoelaces.”

Desmond let out a puff of relief, feeling that was as close to confirmation he was going to get. “I have been kind of dense lately. Lucky for you, I have a cap on the number of dumb things I can do in one night and I've kind of reached my limit.”

It was good to see Shaun smile, timorously hopeful. "I find it hard to believe you have limits on your stupidity."

"Yeah, well I'm just full of surprises," Desmond said in all seriousness.

Without hesitation, he gently cradled Shaun’s head in his hands. Meeting no resistance, he placed a kiss- brief, chaste and feather light- on the mouth that was far too tense under his own.

“You’ve completely lost your mind, haven’t you?” The words came out as a whisper, warm air tickling Desmond’s lips.

“Yup.” This time the kiss he offered was fuller, richer. A slow exploration. Desmond took his time, tangling his fingers in wet, spiky hair. He was particularly delighted to discover that sucking on Shaun’s tongue would force the man to make this helpless moan. Desmond did it again, loving the thrill it sent up his spine.

“Are you…” Shaun struggled for breath, looking completely lost. “Is this… I can’t-“

Desmond wrapped himself around the other man, molding himself to his ever contour to nuzzle an ear. “I’m gonna be pissed if you’re trying to weasel out of this to go find Andrea-“ He emphasized the flat American ‘a’.

Something snapped and suddenly Shaun was all over him at once, tugging at his ears, his clothes, shoving him up against the aging brick wall. The impact forced a laugh from Desmond then a soft ‘oh’ as Shaun latched onto his neck with his mouth.

“Fucker,” was all Shaun managed to say, biting, licking, sucking all the while. “Bastard.”

“Well, shit,” Desmond arched his neck to allow for easier access, letting the rain fall freely on his face. “Tell me how you really feel.”

They were a tangle of arms and legs, as if trying to crawl inside one another in their urgency. The only thing either could hear was the rush of blood in their ears and their frenetic breathing. If someone walked into the alley at that very moment, neither would know nor care if they did.

Their little wrestling match ended unsurprisingly with Desmond pinning Shaun in place, pulling up on that boring jumper.

The Englishman almost sprang straight up out of his skin. “Your hands are cold!”

“So you want me to warm them up?” Desmond shoved the offending appendages down the back of Shaun’s trousers to grab two handfuls of ass. “Fine.”

Shaun hissed but still took advantage of this position to grind into his captor’s hip. They stayed like this, little movements ramping up their arousal to heat the air between them.

They were hard already, almost painfully so. But Desmond wanted to see Shaun lose it, lose control. Hell, they both needed it. He slipped to his knees, jeans already far too soaked to notice the puddle he was kneeling in as he fumbled with the other man’s belt.

“How are my hands now?” Desmond asked casually. He pulled down a waist band to reveal an erect cock to the cooling night time air.

“They’re accepta…oh” A soft moan cut off Shaun’s retort, dragged from him by Desmond wrapping a hand around the base of him, barely sucking on the tip as if delivering a kiss.

“Take it.” Shaun’s demand was followed by a little thrust just in case there was any confusion. “Fucking hell. Please. Just take it.”

“Since you ask so nicely…”

Desmond could feel the groan that time, vibrating through the shaft that passed between his lips. He made sure to watch the other man’s face, taking note of every twitch, every gasp as Shaun watched him right back in awed disbelief.

Pausing to catch his breath, Desmond made a show of sucking his finger, the other man watching him intently. Attention returned to the cock in front of him, Desmond snaking his hand in between thighs that parted for him as much as the confines of clothing would allow. He sucked and probed, managing to get a high pitched whine for his efforts that he found entertaining even if he couldn’t show it.

Hard to smile with your mouth full of dick.

Once the helpless Englishman managed to close his eyes, Desmond grabbed onto bony hips and spun them around.

Shaun brought up his hands to save himself from hitting the cold brick. “What are you… oh, god!”

Tongues were funny things. Supposed to be the strongest muscle in the body, he thought idly. Desmond dove in, tasting the most sensitive of sensitive places. Musky. Not unpleasant. From his reaction Shaun seemed to appreciate it – up on his toes to better arch against it.

After a few minutes of this, Desmond could feel the Englishman’s legs begin to quake. He crawled up the man’s back, digging his chin into Shaun’s shoulder. “Hey..uh. How’s things?”

“Don’t stop,” came the panted reply. “Don’t you fucking dare stop.”

“So you’re okay with me…”

Trying to cool his overheated frame, Shaun pressed himself against the wall to let the chill steal over him. “Whatever you wind up doing, I get to do to you. Twice.”

After a playful bite, Desmond kissed him on the back of the neck. “I like where this is going.”

“You are a chatty bastard, you know that? Yap, yap, yap! Don’t you have any sort of useful skills?”

Desmond tried not to laugh as he spat into his hand. “I make a mean omelet,” he declared, the tip of him nudging for entry.

Slowly, slowly he worked his way inside the other man, grateful that the rain kept prying eyes away. He didn’t want to rush this. Not at all.

They were both shaking when he finally seated himself fully.

“St-stay right there!” came the gasp and Desmond tensed.

“Am I hurting you? I’ll-“

“No!” was Shaun’s reply. “No. J-just want to feel you.”

Oh.

He could feel his pulse hammering away in his dick, wondered if the other man could feel it too. Desmond struggled to keep still, feeling the shake in his own thighs before Shaun pushed against him.

The fit. It was so good. So right.

He began to thrust in earnest, short little snaps alternating with long, slow strokes that had them both bucking against each other like mad. They lost track of every grunt and groan and ‘yes!’ and ‘fuck!’ as their voices intermingled to dissipate into the evening air.

Shaun tried to support them both one handed, trying to stroke himself to completion but Desmond was with him, taking full control of both their pleasure. Fist twisting in time with his thrusts, the American was pleased to hear that high pitched whine again before the cock he so possessively held in his hand twitched and shot and shot and shot. Damn near painted the wall Desmond noted with smug satisfaction.

And then he could think no more, the body that engulfed him unexpectedly clenching, thrusting back against him. He held Shaun to him, wrapping arms around the other man’s torso and Desmond lost any tenuous control he might have had.

His tongue disconnected from his brain as he mindlessly thrust through pulse after pulse. “Fuck! Jesus, fuck!”

It took their combined strength to remain standing.

Desmond blinked back to higher thought processes first. “Goddamn. I think my dick exploded.”

“That…” Shaun said between lungfuls of air. “Would be unfortunate." The Englishman couldn’t hide his smile. “Because I know how to make my own omelets.”

Desmond had just enough energy left to laugh. All was right with the world, at least at this very moment.

That would have to be good enough.


End file.
